Look what we’ve done to ourselves
We weren’t supposed to be here
But now that we are,
to fuck with it all.
I’d rather lie down on my belly
and rub my cock against the bed
and be indifferent
to passion and pain,
I’d been to these fabulous banquets.
I have wined and dined and slept
with these splendid women,
shaken hands with their husbands
and discussed Orson Welles with investment bankers.
I’ve seen dogs dying,
Horses running in moonlight.
As if any of these matters.
This wishing well
is a nice dream
will never become kings and queens.
And the women
And the men
And worst of all,
The boxers don’t dodge punches.
This is a sad place
Dying of tedium and lassitude
Dying of wretched indifference
The mountains have moved away
The oceans have dried up
The dark that once was an idea of pure marvel
stinks of pee and puke from ordinary human perception,
worn out with thirst and want of care.
We were all on our way to glory then
We are all stickers on beat windscreens now.
I can’t choose between beer and icecream
I can’t choose
between being here
and not being here.